Tragic Fairytale
by HookLineSinker5
Summary: When a husband and wife can't seem to meet eye to eye their marriage begins to crumble. Can they fix it before their love story meets its tragic end? This is a small little something I wrote last evening. It's on the more serious side of things, not my usual humor-esc tales. More added soon.


_**This is something different I'm trying. I've been somber as of late and wrote this within two hours. There may be more added at a later time, but as of now this is it.**_

 ** _Please let me know what you think!_**

* * *

The sound of doors slamming above her head seemed to be the only way he could prove a useless and invalid argument anymore. Silverware rattled against the walls of the sink as she tossed the once romantic dinner for two into the garbage and chucked the plates into the hold right along with them. The china shattered into a mess of porcelain, but right now she couldn't care less about destroying priceless eatery. No, her focus was on the footsteps of the man she once proudly called her best friend. They were agitated as they paced above her in their shared room. The body attached to them packing up a few belongings, she was sure of it.

A duffle bag full of clothes was thrown down the stairs as its owner angrily descended them. A leather jacket now adorning his shoulders, the overly tired looking male attempted his best at avoiding the blonde's gaze. More easily accomplished nowadays than one might think. It never used to be though. He used to fight with her just to gaze goofily into those same green eyes just to make her smile. Now they fight over the pointless things to fill the failing emotions of the redundant relationship. Perhaps it was her own fault with always being busy and never making time for just the two of them. Fighting was just their way to feel something.

Anything.

Few words were exchanged as she held her place firmly at the sink. Her fingers couldn't hold on tighter if she tried. She wouldn't let him get to her… would _not_ let him see her cry. No. That would be a huge mistake. She wouldn't be weak. _This one_ was his fault.

He mumbled something about staying with his brother for a few days while they figure out what needed to happen. They shared a house after all, not to mention a last name. The dreaded word that hung in the air, but never dared to be spoken, sat at the tips of their tongues. It seemed inevitable now.

Green eyes squeezed shut at the final door slam of the evening. He was gone. For how long was unknown. She guessed that that would be determined at a later time. For now it seemed she had the entire house to herself. An unfair trade in the disagreement. The quiet will only make her dwell on the uncertainty of the event and eventually drive her incapable of sleeping through the night, perhaps longer.

They needed to figure this out. How to be _them_ again. Social lives had overtaken quiet nights at home together and their duties to their occupations left them too drained for romance. They've been at each other's throats for the past two weeks now.

Drained. That's what she was. Physically and emotionally drained.

He sat slouched into a pile of nothingness as his brother grilled into him. He was called every name in the book from a dickbrain of a husband to a bloody-minded gobshite. All may be true, but this wasn't entirely his fault. Did he know of the dinner preparations she slaved over the stove to make for the two of them? Of course. Did he try his damndest to leave work to be able to enjoy the lovely meal with his wife? Not in the slightest. In fact, he voluntarily took on more work today to get even with her. She had gone out with friends the night before and usually that was perfectly fine. He even encouraged it more times than not. But when she comes home completely wasted and doesn't even acknowledge his existence, let alone come to their bed? Well….

His brother had finally gone to fetch pillows and blankets though he was vocal about being less than pleased about it. He had to agree.

As he lay there in the dark staring at the shadows dancing around the ceiling in the sitting room, he couldn't help but realize that this was the first night they've spent apart in an extremely long time. Voluntarily anyway. He felt off, but was still too angry and proud to admit his faults. He said so many things he didn't mean. A mix of lies and truths rolled into one.

The longer he lay there the worse he felt and the angrier he became. Every emotion possible was coursing through this veins and soon he found himself pacing the floor. Circling the coffee table, around the sofa, the recliner and back again. His hair was standing on end from his fingers pulling at the strands. This woman was infuriating. She was always so frustratingly impossible which is what drew him in in the first place. She was a challenge in a way and it had seemed, for a while at least, that he had finally succeeded in breaking down every last wall his wife had put into place. He soon realized that the walls may be down, but it left room for new ones to be built in their place.

Not knowing how or why, he found himself walking the streets. The night air may help in clearing his head. He passed by the bookstore where they first met with a glimpse of a smile that faded just as quickly as it appeared. Popping the collar of his jacket and shoving his hands into the pockets he continued on.

As she lay there on her side of their bed sniffling away the trails of tears, she tried her damndest at forgetting the hurtful words that spewed from their mouths. It was the first time either one of them had uttered the words 'I hate you'. Except they weren't softly spoken. They were screamed. Yelled out into a sea of lies and words meant to wound the other. They did just that.

The blankets were pulled over her head to shield out the memories, but it only made it worse. Her eyes were swollen red. Her cheeks damp with tears. She needed water but wasn't about to leave the solace of bed to retrieve it.

It was 2:27 by the clock near her face. It was going to be a long night. Sleep wasn't coming and the only friend she had to confide in was grief.

He found himself staring at their front door. Wishing things had ended differently. He could have changed it by coming home when expected, but he was so set on proving a point. That point wasn't relevant anymore and he isn't even sure what it was he wanted to prove in the first place. Perhaps it was just him being arsehole. No. It _was_ him being arsehole.

He was surprised to find the front door left unlocked. Did she want him to come back? Did she even check the lock before venturing off to bed? Did she even care?

Sighing as he flicked on the light while entering the kitchen where it all happened he remembered hearing the sickening sound of shattering plates as he stubbornly threw clothes into a bag. A bag he should have never packed. Not too surprised to find the porcelain still scattered about the the sink and counter, he made quick and careful work of cleaning the mess.

2:59 by the clock on the microwave.

3:01 by the clock on the nightstand in their room. Was it _theirs_ anymore?

Her back was turned to him as he stood in the doorway skimming over her frame in the shadows. He was a bloody idiot. A goddamn fool. This woman was everything he wanted. Did a few sleepless nights mixed with the stress of work really drive their storybook romance to its untimely end? He took a step back and cursed at himself for coming. This isn't the type of fight where 'sorry' and make up sex made the whole night better. No. They needed space. Time.

A trial separation.

She felt a presence in the doorway and only when the floorboard creaked did she turn over in great hope. But to her dismay, there was no one there. Not a soul to be seen. Her head fell back to the pillows as her heart shattered into a million pieces. This was it. This was the end of them. She knew it.

This was indeed the final chapter of Mr. and Mrs. Jones.


End file.
